Dear Man Sitting in F 15,

As the first act commenced, I thought nothing of you. But as the play progressed, by the second or third scene, I realized something was terribly wrong. You were a sprawler. Just because I'm petite and don't take up that much space doesn't mean a large person is allowed to then stretch into the space I'm not occupying. This became quickly uncomfortable when I realized your thigh was touching mine, and though perhaps this is fine when two people have known each other for x-amount of time (like, say, my best friend sitting in F 11), but when I don't even remember seeing you before the play began, I consider this a social no-no. I calmly shifted in my seat, still focusing on Beethoven on stage, and no one was the wiser. But you, you wiley fox, somehow managed to do it AGAIN. After another few scenes, what do I feel pushing against my calf, but your same offensive leg! I'm not sure what kind of game of footsie you were trying to win, but I was having none of it. And come intermission, judging by the look I got (because she saw how awesome I looked in my size 9 bermudas and size large shirt that showed off my excellent boobs), neither was your girlfriend.

Just Trying to Become Cultured (Not Felt Up),
Ace